


Just Peachy

by relmer



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Protective Spot, but oh shit watch out for dallas (duh), it has to do with poker ig, mostly light angst, race agrees to it and goes, slight bit of fluff though!, uhhhh they make a deal™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relmer/pseuds/relmer
Summary: “I’ll make a deal with you, Higgins. You come here every few days for poker night, play with the boys and keep them company, and we’ll have your back if anything ever happens. Well, as long as you’re both a newsie and Manhattan.”





	Just Peachy

**Author's Note:**

> there’s light accents bc i can’t write them oops
> 
> everyone looks like they do in newsies live!!

“I’ll make a deal with you, Higgins. You come here every few days for poker night, play with the boys and keep them company, and we’ll have your back if anything ever happens. Well, as long as you’re both a newsie and Manhattan.”

The blond had nodded in agreement. “I doubt you’ll let me go back without agreein’ to this... but why do I have to play poker with you guys?”

“Not with me; I have business to attend to, and I can’t really trust anyone else to watch them. The majority of them are scared of you,” Spot enlightened him, “so use that to your advantage. Only a few aren’t — like Dallas, my second-in-command. From what I know, he doesn’t like you. Be careful.”

The first night Race headed over to the Brooklyn Lodge, he ended up destroying all the other newsies who played. They quickly realized that the boy wasn’t an amateur, and decided to confront him about it.

“My dad used to run a bar. Lotsa men came in and played. I learned from him and them, until the bar was shut down.”

“Can you show us some tricks?” a boy who looked about nine asked.

“Then we’ll all know them, idiot,” another said, hitting the young boy’s arm lightly. Anyone could see the resemblance, which reminded Race of Davey and Les.

The boy that had been pointed out as Dallas spoke up with a sigh. “It’s time you all start gettin’ ready for bed. I’ll walk Race back.”

He nodded at Race, then made his way outside. The blond followed, but became suspicious when Dallas led him down a strange alley.

“Listen here, kid,” he said, spinning around. “Don’t show your face at the Lodge anymore, got it? You’re stirrin’ up too much trouble. I don’t care if you sell at sheepshead, but stay away from us. If you don’t listen, there’ll be consequences,” he threatened.

Then he was gone, leaving Race in shock after the brunet had slammed his shoulder into his.

“Geez...,” Race mumbled, rubbing his shoulder and quickly making his way back across the bridge.

The days leading up to the next poker night were full of Race continuously being asked if he was okay. He kept spacing out, which worried the other Manhattan newsies, especially Jack.

“You alright? You’ve been acting weird since you came back from poker night in Brooklyn,” Jack said after approaching him.

The blond gave him an absentminded nod, his eyes glazed with a far-away look. “Just peachy.”

He shrugged off the comforting hand that was on his shoulder and made his way to his bed. In doing so, he opted out of the game the other newsies were playing, which shocked all of them.

Though, when Race arrived at the Manhattan Lodge the next day instead of going to poker, the newsies were even more worried, and now quite curious. None had confronted him about it, but he knew what they were all thinking about when they sent him unsubtle glances.

– – –

Race missed not going to the recent poker game, and had scolded himself for being scared of that stupid Dallas kid. So, when the third poker night in which he was told to go to rolled around, he went. He’d already thought up excuses as to why he didn’t go to the last one.

“Jack wanted me to come back after I sold all my papes,” he told the Brooklyn newsies. “Apparently one of the new newsies has been having reoccurrin’ nightmares, and I’m good at helping people who have ‘em.”

Val, a sharp-tongued girl whom Race became instant friends with the first night, tilted her head in confusion. “But why go back after sellin’?”

“Poker games usually last a few hours, so the kid would have been asleep,” Dallas spoke up from his corner. He met Race’s eyes, a dangerous glint in his own.

“Can we just play the game?” a younger newsie whined.

Race kept his honor and pride, beating the other newsies completely. He grew several dollars richer, his usual confident smirk shining when he won.

“Aw, c’mon!”

The blond chuckled, standing when a newsie suggested he should head back. “It was a pleasure robbin’ you guys.” He gave them all a mock bow, then received a few teasing hits. “Hey!”

“Dallas, you’ll take him-“

“I will,” a boy interrupted Val. Due to the slight commotion, no one had noticed the leader of the Brooklyn newsies slip inside the Lodge. He waved Race over, then held open the door for them to walk outside.

As soon as they left, Spot told — it was more like a polite demand — Race to follow him. The scenario reminded him of the first poker game. This time, though, Spot had slowed halfway into an alley then leaned against one of the brick walls to study the taller boy.

“You missed last week,” he said after a few moments. “You promised me you’d go to _all_ the poker nights, and instead you-“

“I know, Spot,” Race tiredly mumbled.

The brunet threw his hands in the air. “Then explain to me why you didn’t go.”

At Race’s hesitation, he raised his eyebrows.

_”Well?”_

“I can’t.”

“And why not?”

“I....”

Spot scoffed. “You can’t even tell me.” He shook his head. “Deal’s off, pretty boy.”

“Wait!” Race nearly shouted, his cheeks flaming as the brunet began walking away. Quieter, he said, “Dallas told me to not go anymore, or else there’d me ‘consequences.’”

“That son of a-“ Spot cleared his throat. “Was this after the first night?”

The answer was a nod. The shorter of the two opened his mouth again to speak, but someone else beat him to it.

“You’re such a damn _coward_ , Higgins.”

Both Spot and Race’s attention was immediately redirected to the tall brunet who was making his way towards them. Spot pushed off the wall, standing in between Race and Dallas.

“What do you want, punk?” he asked quietly, the tone in his voice one to make a person want to run as fast as he could away from him.

Race noticed the change in Dallas’s expression and demeanor. Spot must’ve caught it, too, since he stood a little straighter.

“Just for Racetrack Higgins to actually _listen to me.”_

“The only Brooklyn newsie he listens to and — somewhat — obeys is me.” Spot stared the taller boy down with a glare he reserved for certain people. “I suggest you get the hell outta here.”

Dallas shrugged. “I’ll pass on that.”

“Spot, let’s just go,” Race suggested softly, a hint of pleading making its way into his voice.

“Yeah, listen to your _pet,”_ Dallas spat.

Spot was on the other brunet before Race could even process what was happening. A small amount of blood caught his eye and he tried to pull Spot off of Dallas.

Race yanked him away, shouting his name. Spot let him, and the pair got close to the mouth of the alley when he stopped and turned.

“You’re no longer my second. And you’re banned from poker nights.” He met Dallas’ eyes. “Be glad I’m at least letting you stay.”

Then his hand closed around Race’s bicep and he tugged him away in the direction of the Brooklyn Lodge, Race spewing protests.

Spot slowed to a stop as they’re a few feet from the door. “You really think I’m gonna let you go across the bridge tonight? By yourself, even?”

That made Race’s mouth snap shut, though it opens again a millisecond later. “I can’t sleep here. I’m Manhattan.”

“You play poker here and sell at Sheepshead,” Spot pointed out, “so you’re basically Brooklyn anyways. Plus, I can invite whoever I want to.” He led the blond inside, not noticing the blush rising on his face.

They go past all of the bunks, Race realizing what their destination is a split second before Spot voices it.

“I have my own room. The bed is big enough for the two of us.”

He doesn’t see that Race’s entire face is now crimson, thanks to his own words.

“Spot?” Race asked once they’re safely inside the bedroom. “Why’d you even do all this? The deal, the promise, the thing with Dallas...?”

The brunet froze, his hands refusing to start untying his boots. “I, uh-“ he sat up fully “-ain’t so good with words and feelings, but I like you, Higgins. A lot.”

He then shied away from Race, who let out a soft laugh. The noise made Spot’s eyes snap back to his.

“You look so cute when you’re flustered,” Race said, even though he was the one blushing not even five minutes ago.

“What about when I’m not flustered?”

He received a shrug and a verbal response. “You’re quite attractive in any and every situation. Especially when you’re angry,” he admitted, mumbling the last part.

“Damn,” Spot said with raised eyebrows, standing up, “can we just kiss already, Higgins?”

“Thought you’d never ask, Conlon.”

When Spot held out a hand to pull Race close, the latter doesn’t object. Instead, he set his arms on Spot’s shoulders and smiled the slightest bit down at him. Then their lips are finally — _finally!_ — connecting and it takes every muscle in Race’s body to not let out a noise. Spot walked him backwards to where he’s resting on the wall, pressing his body flush against Race’s, and in turn the boy against the wall.

They continue to kiss, Spot’s hand tangled in Race’s blond curls and tugging every so often. At a particularly hard tug, Race lets out a soft moan.

Spot ended the kiss, staring at Race and taking pride in how _he_ was the one to make his lips bright red, a blush on his cheeks, and both boys breathing hard. He’s the only one to have ever seen Race like that, and will forever be the only one. At that realization, he pulls him down into another kiss.

– – –

Val totally doesn’t go to knock on the door and accidentally overhears their conversation. Money was never exchanged between the Brooklyn newsies; they’d rather jump into the river during fall than admit to Spot about their bets.

And when the newsies of Manhattan go on strike, none of them even have to lift a finger for the Brooklyn newsies to be there backing them up.

All thanks to Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins’ deal.


End file.
